Wake
by PlainsParadox
Summary: Oh the Blood and the treasure, and then losing it all. The time that we wasted, and the place where we fall. Will we wake in the morning and know what is was for, up in our bedroom, after the war?- Mckay/Sheppard. Character death. New chapter added daily.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Story is complete. New chapters will be added daily.

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Mission Report  
Richard Woolsey  
Atlantis Base  
2 September 2012

In the year preceding the attack, an estimated 92% of the total Wraith population had submitted to taking the retrovirus engineered by doctors Beckett and Keller (section 12.1 for retrovirus compound and effects). The overpopulation of Wraith predators in proportion to viable human prey created a scenario in which the continued survival of the Wraith was in jeopardy. This instigated a civil war which later led to many Wraith seeking an alternative food source (section 11, "Cause and Effect: An Anthropological Study of Wraith Macro Socioeconomic Hierarchy"). While the dissemination of the retrovirus greatly diminished the Wraith as a threat, those who refused (hereon referred to as Type 1 Wraith, with Type 2 Wraith denoting those who submitted to treatment) took up offense with renewed ferocity and a bloodlust heretofore unseen. They were no longer hunting humans strictly as a food sourced, but with the purpose of eliminating all peoples allied with Atlantis...

_"Shields at critical levels. One more hit like that and we'll be dead in the water."_

_"Can you divert power?"_

_"Not if you still want weapons."_

...spread the remaining hives across Pegasus. Over the course of a year, Type 1 Wraith had succeeded in destroying hundreds of human populations. With our allies specifically targeted, traditional relocation failed to be a practical solution for the survivors. The city came to house refugees from nearly every world with which trade or other peaceful negotiations had been established. Atlantis had become both the safest place in the galaxy and the biggest target...

_"Can we evacuate?"_

_"No. Even if we had enough time, the ZedPMs are nearly depleted. We wouldn__'__t be able to maintain a stable wormhole . Besides, it wouldn__'__t help."_

_"We__'__d be alive. That seems helpful."_

_"Listen to me, Sheppard. This isn__'__t like the other times the Wraith have come after Atlantis. They__'__re not trying to get to Earth or protect their food source. They want to wipe us out. Leaving and destroying the city will only hold them off until they__'__re able to track us down again, and then we__'__ll be even more helpless than we are now."_

_"Then give me another choice, McKay."_

_"Working on it!"_

...After a series of hit-and-run operations performed by the U.S.A.F. ships the _Sigurd_ and the _Valkyrie_, in conjunction with the preemptive evacuation of allied home worlds (section 3, "Strategy and Preparation"), Type 1 Wraith found their numbers in a steady decline and their strategy failing. They had meant to cut off supplies and draw the Lanteans into an open confrontation outside of the city, but had instead greatly reduced their own food source and caused all the major powers of the galaxy to fall back into one central stronghold—Atlantis. Many of the remaining Type 1s surrendered and were administered the retrovirus, bringing the enemy Wraith force to no more than a small handful of hive ships (section 14.3). The rest regrouped and launched a full scale attack on the city directly...

_"I might have a solution, but you__'__re not going to like it."_

_"Let__'__s hear it."_

_"A couple of months ago, we were investigating the labs in the far west pier. We found what we believed to be an energy weapon—one that would fire with nearly twelve times the force of the Asgard beams on the Daedalus class ships."_

_"You got it working again."_

_"Possibly."_

_"Possibly?"_

_"Alright, almost definitely, but it__'__s never been tested. Based on the calculations, we__'__ll be able to get off one, maybe two shots before we drain power completely, and if it doesn__'__t work, we__'__ll still kill the ZedPM."_

_"Are there any other options?"_

_"None that end with us surviving."_

_"Do it."_

...under siege for almost a week. The combined efforts of the _Sigurd_, _Valkyrie_, and those ships in the company of the Travelers brought down all but four of the hives before the vessels sustained too much damage and took refuge within the city's shields. The city's drones, complemented by those brought in by the Lord Protector of the Tower, was then fired, taking out two hives, and damaging a third. While their force was critically decreased, the final hives showed no intent to surrender or retreat, and Atlantis had exhausted all of its defensive resources (section 3.3, "Artillery"). Doctor Rodney McKay suggested a piece of experimental Ancient weaponry...

_"McKay to Sheppard."_

_"_Go ahead_."_

_"We__'__ve made it to the lab. It will take a few minutes to integrate the weapon into the city__'__s power system. I need you in the chair and ready to fire on my mark."_

_"_Understood_."_

...In what was the final act of the war, McKay and his team made the Ancient energy weapons operational. Though the two shots expended the last of city's power, the hive ships were destroyed, securing a victory not only for Atlantis, but for the entire Pegasus galaxy...

_"_Why aren't you firing?!_"_

_"I tried. Nothing__'__s happening... Oh no no no. This is bad."_

_"_What's going on?_"_

_"Just give me a second."_

_"_McKay_..."_

_"All of you, clear out! Get as far from here as possible, but don__'__t use the transporters. They__'__re probably going to go offline as soon as we fire."_

_"_What are you doing?_"_

_"There__'__s a problem with the power distribution. I__'__m going to have to regulate it manually."_

_"_Why did you send your team out?_"_

_"Because there__'__s a chance it could overload, causing a catastrophic failure that would bring down this whole tower."_

_"_Get out of there. We'll figure out something else_."_

_"There isn__'__t anything else. Besides, the chances of an overload are a lot slimmer than the chances of us getting blasted out of the water by the Wraith if we don__'__t do this. Now, are you ready?"_

_"Colonel?"_

_"_Ready._"_

_"Alright, now on my mark."_

...The last battle with the Wraith proved to have fewer casualties than any previous attack on Atlantis. With a full complement of ZPMs, and the backing of every military force in Pegasus, the Wraith threat met a complete and efficient defeat. While we mourn the twenty three lost aboard the ships, both terrestrial and alien, and the five scientists that died in the explosion that devastated the West pier, they will be remembered by Atlantis, Earth, and Pegasus as heroes that ended centuries of fear and oppression, bringing this galaxy its first glimpse of freedom...

_"_Direct hit. We have a kill on the first hive ship_."_

_"Oh, shit!"_

_"_That's supposed to be good news, McKay_."_

_"No, that__'__s great, but the blast knocked out one of the power conduits. I__'__m going to have to have to double the output of the other two for the second shot."_

_"_Well do it and get out of there_."_

_"It__'__s not that simple. At these levels, someone has to be regulating the device at all times."_

_"_Get someone else to do it_."_

_"I__'__m the only one that understands the work around."_

_"_Teach them_."_

_"There__'__s no time. John, I have to do this."_

_"_Fine. Just make it work_."_

_"Right. Fire in three. Two. One. Mark."_

_"_Direct hit. All hives have been eliminated, but we've lost power on all major systems. How's it on your end, McKay? ... McKay? ... Rodney!_"_


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** This story is complete. New chapters are posted daily.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

John stared at Rodney lying in the infirmary bed. Rodney was pale except for a few deep scratches where debris had scraped his left cheek. More than anything else, he looked tired. It was an expression John was familiar with after all the years in Atlantis, everyone counting on Rodney to pull a miracle out of his head at the eleventh hour. Rodney had managed to do it again, but this would be the last time.

For a moment, John almost believed the medics had made a mistake. Rodney wasn't dead, just passed out after a week of sleeplessly saving their asses. Give him a day and a sandwich and he would be back to writing code and terrifying underlings. But then John reached out and traced the line of abrasions and all he felt was cold. Everything went gray after that.

* * *

John awoke with the familiar hangover unique to tranquilizers. His mind felt fuzzy and he was nauseated in the same way as on the last day of a bad flu—empty, like he'd been throwing up for days, but still queasy enough to be miserable. A minute passed before he was able to open his eyes, and another before he figured out he was in his own quarters. The last bits of sunset painted everything a soft blue.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes again, and rolled onto his side. The combination of Rodney's scent on the pillow and his right arm meeting nothing but empty space beside him catapulted John into awareness and pushed the last week to the forefront of his mind. All the muscles in his body jerked at once as he leapt out of bed. Before his feet even hit the floor, the lights burst on and he was momentarily staggered.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stay where you are."

John blinked against the lights and looked across the room to see a young Marine pointing a stunner at him. John sat down hard on the bed and buried his face in his hands. "Stand down, sergeant."

"I'm sorry, sir. Woolsey's orders," the other man replied, then tapped his headset. "Thompson to Keller. The colonel's awake."

John didn't look up as he waited for the doctor to arrive. The motion of jumping up had kept him from doing much more than focusing on fighting back nausea, and even if that were not the case, any attempt to resist would just get him stunned. He concentrated on breathing until he heard the door swish open.

"It's okay, son. I can take it from here." John looked up, surprised to hear Carson's thick, Scottish accent. Thompson shifted uncomfortably and said, "I was told to stand guard, sir."

"You're welcome to guard from outside the door, then," was Carson's reply. "I promise, if there's any trouble, you'll be the first to know." Thompson glanced warily between Carson and John, but dutifully took up post outside John's quarters.

"Thought you were on leave, doc." John said. Carson had left for Earth a few weeks prior to care for his mother who had suffered a broken hip.

"They called me back as soon as the attack was over. They're a bit short staffed in the infirmary at the moment, and also, well..." Carson aborted the statement as soon as it began.

"And Rodney," John finished, tension shooting through his body like an electric shock.

"Aye," Carson said, sighing. "How are you doing?"

"I'm..." John tried to answer, but no words came. He let out a heavy breath and scrubbed his hands across his face, then through his hair, grabbing two fists of it and pulling. That felt good, so he pulled harder.

"None of that now," Carson said, placing a hand on John's wrist. "Keep it up and I'll have to put you out again." John slowly released his grip and lowered his hands. While Carson took his pulse and blood pressure, John was able to really take stock of his surroundings for the first time since he regained consciousness.

The room looked like it had been ransacked. The desk was overturned, and the shelves that were mounted on the wall had been wiped clean, their cargo strewn across the floor. The sheets had been ripped off the bed and heaped beside a pile of shattered pieces that John recognized as his bedside lamp.

"What happened?" John asked.

"You threw a right fit in the infirmary," Carson said. "You were escorted here, but in the end we had to sedate you."

"I guess that explains the armed guard."

"Aye, and he'll be there for the next twenty four hours, so mind your manners."

"Woolsey sent me to my room? Am I supposed to sit here and think about what I've done?" John tried to grin, but it felt too slow and tight across his face.

"You're lucky you're not in the brig after the fuss you made," Carson said, but the reprimand wasn't genuine. "I'll be off now. Will you be alright? Do you need something to help you sleep?" John shook his head, suddenly so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. Carson nodded knowingly, then left. John sprawled across the bed, but it felt like a betrayal, sleeping in it alone.

Officially speaking, John and Rodney had separate quarters. Atlantis, being so far away from Earth, and a civilian mission at that, was fairly lax in its adherence to military standards. Elizabeth had left their general enforcement to John, and, by the time her successors arrived, making sure the military contingent was all following strict protocol was fairly low on the list of priorities. Sharp salutes may have been a rare sight in the city, but as far as paperwork between Atlantis and Earth went, everything had to appear to be in order.

It wasn't a hardship. Atlantis was anything but short on space, and sometimes it was nice for John and Rodney to each have a place for themselves. Most nights, though—if they weren't working into the small hours of the morning, harboring a second consciousness, or slowly morphing into a giant bug—they slept together. John couldn't stomach lying there by himself, so he dropped onto the floor with a pillow and blanket and passed out.

He woke in the same position, his shoulder aching sharply at being forced into the floor for so long. John noticed the sun filtering through the window at an odd angle and checked his watch. He was surprised to see he had slept for nearly twenty one hours. He still felt exhausted.

John sat up and tried to stretch the knots out of his neck and shoulder. On the edge of the bed, someone had laid out a sandwich and bottled water for him. He couldn't remember his last meal, but still couldn't even think about eating. He felt like everything inside of him had been replaced with styrofoam.

He lay back down on the floor but couldn't shake a sudden sense of unease. It took a moment for him to realize it was the food that was bothering him. For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't stand the thought of it sitting on the bed. He got up and removed the offending items, but when he turned to throw them away he saw that the trash can was pinned beneath the desk. John turned and went for the door, intending to use one of the bins in the hall, but was stopped by a new Marine standing outside his door.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't let you leave," he said.

"I'm just going down the hall, then I'll come right back." John tried to use his best 'talk down the natives with bows and arrows' tone, but it came out more condescending than anything else.

"I have orders, sir," the Marine replied stoically.

"Right," John said, running a hand through his hair. "Any idea when I'm up for parole on the house arrest?"

"Dr. Beckett is coming to do an assessment at 1800, sir," he replied. Three hours. John could manage that. He turned back into the room, but as soon as the door slid shut it felt too small and he was full of nervous energy. He couldn't tell if it was that there wasn't enough space, or not enough air, but the only thing he wanted to do was run out. Briefly, he wondered if this was what Rodney felt like when he got claustrophobic. That thought pushed him over the edge and he immediately had to _do _something.

Leaving wasn't an option, so John set to work restoring his room. He hauled the furniture back in place, then turned his attention to the things that had been broken. Those that were beyond hope he threw out, and meticulously pieced back together those that weren't. As a distraction, it was effective. As long as he kept everything focused on this shelf, or that stack of books, he could forestall the urge to break it all again.

It wasn't until he was tweaking the sleeves on Rodney's jacket that was hung over the desk chair that he realized he hadn't been cleaning at all. He had been returning the room to the state it was in before the attack. By the time John noticed, it was almost exactly the way Rodney had left it.

The door swished open and John looked up, expecting to see Carson. Woolsey was hovering in the doorway instead. He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat and strode purposefully into the room.

"Colonel," he said, "It's good to see you up and about." John didn't respond, just stared Woolsey down. He wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Yes, well, I came to inform you that I'm taking you off active duty for the time being." John averted his eyes, not trusting anything that might cross them. On instinct, he wanted to protest. He had a responsibility to the people of Atlantis, and, strictly speaking, Woolsey didn't have the authority to do more than ground him from off-world missions. Still, some loud, selfish part was relieved. He was exhausted in a way that went well beyond the physical, and the thought of going back to the daily grind, as much as there was one here, was intolerable. "Major Lorne will temporarily assume your duties."  
Woolsey hesitated, seeming unsure whether or not to continue. After an awkward silence, he went on. "I understand that Dr. McKay meant a great deal to you. Might I suggest you take this time for yourself? Spend time with those closest to you; perhaps take leave back to Earth. Whatever you decide, I would encourage you to allow yourself to grieve." John nodded stiffly.

"I'll send the doctor in now," Woolsey said, and then slipped out of the room. Carson entered a moment later, and didn't bother with small talk.

"I expect you're fine, physically," he said, "but I have to take a quick look at you anyway." Carson took his vitals with practiced speed. "BP is slightly elevated, but that's to be expected. If you can promise me you won't destroy any more furniture, I'll clear you of room restriction." John gave Carson the same stiff nod Woolsey had received a moment earlier. That was the only response he could muster at the moment. "I'll take my leave then. Don't hesitate to tell me if you need anything."

John hadn't moved his gaze from the floor since Woolsey left, but when he stole a glance at Carson then, the look of sadness and pity he saw there forced him to immediately look away again. It occurred to John that other people had lost Rodney too. Carson had been Rodney's friend, maybe even his best friend. John remembered how much guilt Rodney carried with him after the doctor had died. How strange and unfair was it now that Carson should bear that same grief? But that's the way it went in Pegasus: every blessing a curse in its own way. A perfect demonstration of Newton's third law, 'To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.' It should be their motto by now.

Carson laid a palm on John's forearm in a brief moment of sympathy, then turned and left. The second Carson was gone John couldn't stand being there anymore. He slipped on his radio and left without any particular destination in mind. He had reached the science wing when he realized he was subconsciously heading for Rodney's lab. He made a dash for the nearest transporter and set a course for the mess hall instead.

The halls were surprisingly vacant. John's morning runs were typically the only time he experienced the city without all the usual sounds of alarms, gun fire, ancient devices whirring to life, and scientists shouting to each other in every language. Over the years, the cacophony had become a melody that meant home to John, like the smell of saddle oil or his mother's perfume. As he neared the mess, however, voices and music began to filter down the hall.

John rounded the final corner and found the room filled with people. Many of the expedition members were present, and the refugees the Lanteans had taken in filled in every available space. John stood frozen in the doorway, trying to process the scene.

Children darted around tables and crowds of celebrating adults. John spotted the Athosians huddled on the floor beside one of the large picture windows. He might have noticed their attempts to wave him over had his eyes not been captured by the rows of faces staring out at him from the walls. Across the mess, pictures had been hung of every expedition member who had been lost in the war against the Wraith. Many of the photos had been taken right here in Atlantis. Others were teams in field gear, surrounded by smiling Pegasus natives from off world missions. A few were no more than the headshot from their personnel files, and those struck John the most.

He made a point to not look for anyone in particular, but some immediately jumped out. Ford: a 4x6 of him in his college graduation robes, smiling with an arm slung around each of his grandparents. A rosary was hung on the same pin with a prayer candle lit below. Peter Grodin: grinning from beneath a dismantled command station in the control room. Sumner: grainy, standing on a dock next to Colonel Everett, holding a massive catfish between them in a picture that was printed on the back of a page from a mission report. John closed his eyes to keep out any faces he was not yet ready to see.

"John." He recognized her voice immediately, but still jumped when Teyla's hand landed on his shoulder.

"I was- I have to... I'm sorry." John pivoted without meeting her eyes, then ran out of the mess. Before he knew it, John was sprinting down the hall, nearly colliding with a pair of blue-shirted scientists exiting a transporter. If they called out to him, he didn't hear as he turned into a seldom-used stairway. He took six flights of stairs without breaking pace, then tore off down a corridor and slid into his office. For a hysterical moment, he considered shoving the desk against the door as a blockade, but by then his brain had finally caught up with him.

_"Colonel Sheppard, please respond. John!" _The tone of Teyla's voice over the radio suggested she had been at it for some time. He tapped his headset and replied, "Sheppard."

_"John, are you alright?" _John grimaced, realizing how ridiculous he had just been, but unable to bring himself to regret it.

"Everything's fine," he said, which felt like a lie, but was the right answer. Teyla sighed audibly.

_"Very well, but should you need—"_

"I'll keep in touch. Sheppard out." John pulled the headset from his ear before she had the chance to respond and tossed it on the desk. He rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes. He felt sore and groggy, as if he'd spent the day dodging bullets. He fell heavily into the chair and laid his head down on the desk. He just needed a minute to regroup enough to make the trek back to his quarters.

* * *

_"Of course, the one place no one would think to look for you is the place you're actually supposed to be. Your hideout technique is genius in its simplicity," Rodney said, sounding exasperated._

_"I'm not hiding," John said, attempting to conjure an air of indignation. "Mission reports don't write themselves." He gestured at the laptop in front of him as evidence. Rodney's mouth tensed into a thin line. He crossed the office in a few long strides, closing John's laptop as he leaned over the desk._

_"We're going to have words, Sheppard," Rodney said, glaring. "Lots of them. But don't worry; I'll keep them small enough for you to keep up."_

_"Something on your mind, McKay?" John asked, leaning back in his chair. _

_"I'm just wondering what the logic was behind strapping yourself to a nuclear bomb and throwing yourself into the belly of a hive ship." Rodney's voice was low and venomous._

_"I wasn't strapped to a bomb. I was flying a Puddle Jumper," John said, and if Rodney was angry before, John had just pushed him over the edge into full blown fury. Rodney shoved away from the desk and turned away. John had just sagged in his chair when Rodney turned back on him and delivered a well aimed punch to the right side of John's face. _

_"I'm not laughing, Sheppard!" Rodney began shouting and gesticulating before John had the chance to recover from the blow. "You know, I was about two minutes away from having those jumpers hooked up remotely. They could have been in the air in about as much time as it took you to run your fool ass to the hangar, but instead Major Too-lucky-for-his-own-damn-good decides to ride it home in a blaze of self sacrificing glory! Two minutes, Sheppard. Two fucking minutes."_

_"Rodney, we didn't have—"_

_"Yes we did."_

_"There was no way to know that! There was no way to know if you could even get the jumpers going on their own! I did what I had to do, and if you think I'm going to apologize for that, you're wrong." John stood and approached Rodney as he spoke. He was getting angry now too._

_"So what happens next time? Am I supposed to just watch the blip on the radar again as you run off to meet your own untimely end?"_

_John exhaled in frustration then looked Rodney in the eyes. "Yes," he answered, because, honestly, what else could he say? Rodney seemed to crumble a bit at that. He turned away from John and leaned against the desk._

_"I don't know how to take that," Rodney said. The helpless tone that crept its way into the admission was such a stark contrast to the enraged shouting that came before; John wished he could have given a different answer. _

_"I'm sorry," John said._

_"Fuck you," Rodney shot back, but allowed John to pull him into an embrace. "And for the record, 'So long' is a grossly inappropriate way to say goodbye in a situation like that."_

_"I'm sorry," John said and kissed Rodney's forehead. Then again, "I'm sorry." Rodney finally relented and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, allowing John to kiss him properly._

_"Me too. For punching you in the face, I mean. Maybe you should have Carson look at that."_

_"I'm fine." John said._

_"I guess I'm just now realizing I'm probably not going to see you as an old man," Rodney said, pulling John a bit closer. "It's... uncomfortable."_

_They stood in silence for a moment before John spoke up, "Look, buddy, I need you to promise me something."_

_"What's that?" Rodney prompted without moving._

_"If something happens to me, here or off world, and I don't make it, I need you to promise that you won't do anything stupid. The city needs you a lot more than it needs me, and I need to know that I can count on you to take care of it." John didn't say it, but he hoped Rodney understood that he wanted to make sure Rodney would be okay without him._

_Rodney pulled back and looked at John incredulously. "I'm sorry, but did I just hear you tell me not to 'do anything stupid'? Did you forget who you're talking to?" John shrugged. "Don't worry; I'll leave the stupid heroics to you. Personally, I like surviving, and I'm not about to wilt in an Ophelian heap because you nobly—or ignobly, as the case may be—decide to sacrifice yourself for the cause."_

_"Good," John said. _

_He couldn't be sure, but it seemed like the color began to shift in the room. Everything looked washed out, like overexposed film. Rodney looked at him then, strangely expressionless, and said, _

_"Wake up."_

_"What?" John said, because this wasn't right. This isn't how it happened. The room around him started to fall away, morphing into something cold and too bright._

"Come on, Sheppard. Move." John jerked upright, nearly toppling the desk chair. Ronon grabbed John's shoulder to keep him from slipping onto the floor. "You alright?" John blinked at him stupidly, trying to separate the dream from reality. "Sheppard."

"Yeah. Fine," John finally managed to reply. "Why are you here?"

"You've been off radio all morning. I was sent to find you." Ronon said.

"Teyla?" John asked. Ronon shrugged noncommittally. "Right." Then, a minute late, "Wait, morning?"

"Almost lunch," Ronon said. John checked his watch in disbelief, but Ronon was right. John felt a brief flash of panic; he had lost so many hours recently he didn't even know what day it was. "Hey," Ronon nudged John's shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Up for a run?"

Despite feeling sore and tired, John agreed without hesitation. "I just need to go by my quarters first."

Ronon kept a few paces ahead of John as they walked down the corridor and John struggled to keep up. All his limbs felt heavy, and even though they were just walking at a normal pace, it was like running in sand. John told himself it was from spending the night hunched over a desk. He just needed some blood in his muscles to feel like himself again. Still, it was beginning to feel more and more like one of those nightmares where you were running for your life but couldn't get yourself to move any faster.

Ronon held the transporter open while John caught up. Inside, John was suddenly light headed and slumped against the wall.  
"Alright, Sheppard?" Ronon asked.

"Fine. Just, not really awake yet," John said. Ronon gave him a sideways glance, but said nothing more.

Once at his quarters, John dashed inside and changed quickly into track pants and running shoes. He focused intently on the task at hand—the feel of the soft fabric, the tight weave of his shoelaces—and gave as little notice to the room around him as was possible. He was in and out in less than a minute.

"Let's go," John said, clapping Ronon on the shoulder. The two found their usual course and took off. Even on his best days, John couldn't keep pace with Ronon in an all-out run, but today he barely managed a quick jog. Every step jostled his bones, and made his joints ache with the memory of injuries long past. As he fell further and further behind, he forced all the energy he could find into pushing ahead. Dark spots danced across his vision, but he stubbornly shook his head and continued. Lungs burning painfully, he pushed hard against the ground. Without warning, his knees gave out beneath him and he couldn't tell up from down.

He didn't remember hitting the floor, but when his senses slowly began to return, Ronon was already standing over him, speaking into his headset. John blinked hard, but his sight refused to solidify. His limbs were trembling, and every breath seemed to choke him a little more. Finally, John closed his eyes and let unconsciousness take over.

* * *

"Hey, doc, he's awake," Ronon said from somewhere nearby.

"And about time too," was Carson's reply. From the smell of antiseptic and the IV in his arm, John registered that he was in the infirmary, but couldn't piece together exactly how he had gotten there.

"What happened?" John asked. His mouth was dry and sticky and the words barely came out.

"Passed out while we were running," Ronon said.

"It's no less than you deserve, bloody great fool," Carson said. "Severe dehydration, low blood sugar, and, of all things, you go running! When was the last time you ate something?"

"I, uh..." John honestly didn't know the answer to that, and his brain had yet to reach the point where lying was a possibility.

"That's what I thought," Carson said. "You're lucky it didn't happen sooner. We've had enough to deal with in the last few days without senseless Air Force colonels running themselves into the ground for no reason."

"You can just let me out of here, doc. I'm fine," John said, but the look on Carson's face told him it was a mistake before the words finished leaving his mouth.

"If there's one things you're not, Colonel Sheppard, it's fine. You'll be in here for the rest of the afternoon rehydrating, then you ought to just hope I don't send you back with another armed guard."

John grimaced at the thought.

"But he'll be good?" Ronon asked.

"Aye, he'll be right as rain if he doesn't continue trying to do himself in." Carson said. It was meant to be off the cuff, but John didn't miss the touch of worry in his voice or the loaded glances the doctor kept sending in his direction.

"Go ahead, Ronon. I'll let you know when they spring me," John said.

"Then it'll be up to you to make sure he doesn't kill himself with his own bad judgment," Carson added.

"Whatever you say, doc," Ronon said and left the infirmary.

There was a moment of tense silence while Carson checked John's IV line and vitals. Finally, Carson spoke. "I know it's a difficult time, lad, but if you need anything at all, even just to talk, don't think there's no one you can call."

"I know," John said. "Thanks."

"No thanks necessary as long as you start taking care of yourself. Get some rest now."

John nodded, leaned back, and once again let sleep take him.

A few hours later, Carson released John into Ronon's custody, without an armed guard, but with strict orders to take it easy and check in at regular intervals. John was used to silence around Ronon, but the walk back to John's room seemed awkward more than companionable.

"You don't have to stay," John said as they reached his door.

"Doctor's orders," Ronon replied with a smirk and walked into John's quarters.

"Right," John said, grimacing as he followed. "Look, I'm good. I know you probably want to be... celebrating or something." Ronon had dedicated his whole life to fighting the Wraith, after all. With them finally out of the picture, this should be the greatest time of his life. Instead he had gotten roped into babysitting.

Ronon leveled John with a stare and said, "Sheppard, I've been where you are." John only nodded, because, really, that said everything. Ronon had lost the woman who was as good as his wife when Sateda was destroyed. "That part that you lose when someone gets taken like that, you don't ever get back."

"So what do you do?"

"You keep fighting. You make it worth something. McKay was a hero. He died with honor."

John huffed a mirthless laugh. "That doesn't really help."

"It will," Ronon said seriously. John took a few steps away and ran his hands through his hair. An awful pressure rose up in his chest that threatened to crack right through his ribcage. He shut his eyes tight and tried to force the feeling back down.

"Hey, buddy, not that I don't appreciate what you're doing here, but why don't you take off? I think I'm just going to sleep. I'll let you know if anything happens." John didn't look up and Ronon didn't answer, just pulled John into one of his startling, bone crushing hugs and was gone.

John stood rooted to the spot for an immeasurable moment while he battled back something that wanted to be a sob. Finally, the feeling began to subside and John released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Whether from whatever Carson had pumped into his bloodstream or the countless hours over the last few days he had spent asleep or sedated John wasn't sure, but his body thrummed with nervous energy.

John paced the room, feeling like a caged animal. He couldn't stand being there, but facing anyone else in the city was even more intolerable. He knew some part of him should feel good; after eight years of constant war, the Wraith were defeated. He should be able to appreciate the victory, or at least stomach the idea of other people doing so.

Instead, he was consumed with the wrongness of the situation. This was Rodney's victory more than anyone else's. Rodney, who had saved everyone on this base too many times over to count. Rodney, who had stayed in the game through every long shot and Hail Mary pass. Rodney, who, even as the very last casualty of the war, had done it all again. Now, when it all finally, finally paid off, Rodney wasn't here to see it.

Since John had sat in the command chair in the Ancient outpost in Antarctica, Rodney had been the center of everything. The Atlantis expedition had become more home and family than John had ever known before, and Rodney had been there every step of the way. Atlantis without Rodney was empty, and John needed out.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The hair on the back of John's neck stood on end as he crept through the silent halls, feeling like an escaped fugitive. It was just after midnight when he took the final flight of stairs that led to the control room. He knew he should feel nervous or at least a little remorseful for what he was about to do, but all he felt was a deep sense of relief.

Rodney's research had been easy to access once John found the right laptop. Hasty calculations of time difference ratios, estimated schematics, and power distributions all sat in a long-forgotten file. Throughout the day John made all the necessary arrangements, gathering a pack of rations and basic supplies. It wasn't much, but it was all he would need for what he was planning. He checked in with Carson when he was expected, and even managed to eat dinner with Ronon, Teyla and her family in her quarters. It was easier to be on his best behavior when he knew he wasn't going to be around much longer.

When the city switched to the overnight skeleton crew, John was in his room, double-checking his supply pack and laying out the data pad with his plans on the bed. He considered leaving a note along with it to explain himself (Ronon would understand, but Teyla would worry,) but he figured that was trite, even for him. Instead, he stuck a Post It on the screen. _Read Me. _

He swallowed a sick guilt, realizing he was being selfish. Still, after eight years of yanking people off death's doorstep in Pegasus, and even more in his years of military service prior, John decided he had earned the right. John snatched the Ambien off the desk and entered the empty corridor.

That's how he found himself outside the control room, taking one last steeling breath and striding in. This was the crucial moment—if he missed this opportunity the rest of the plan was a wasted effort.

The night technician jumped when John came up from behind. "Colonel Sheppard!"

"Didn't mean to scare you there, Johnson." John surveyed the workstation and there, just as he'd hoped, was a cup of coffee.

"Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"Naw. Couldn't sleep. Just thought I'd check on things while I was passing through. How's it looking?"

"All clear, sir." He said.

"Long range sensors?" John asked, leaning over the gate tech's shoulder.

"Nothing there but space" the technician said. John nodded, satisfied. Selfish though his plan may be, he had no intention of leaving Atlantis short one military commander if there was even a chance that they would need him. As John leaned back, he dropped the sleeping pills into Johnson's coffee.

"Zelenka would kill you if he saw that," John said, gesturing at the cup sitting on the Ancient console. Johnson flushed and began stuttering out an excuse. John grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm not telling. I'd rather the man at the sensors be awake. Just don't let it get on the technology." Deciding to stop tormenting the innocent bystander, John bid him goodnight and left the gate room, pausing in the doorway to see Johnson take a deep swig of his coffee.

The plan now officially in motion, John made a fast break for his quarters. By his count, he had only twenty minutes before the night patrol made their rounds in the control tower, and he still had to make it across the city without being seen. He ducked inside his room only long enough to grab his pack, gun and life signs detector.

By the first transporter, he had to make a decision: either cut through the central tower, or take the back hallways and stairs that, while more tedious, would mean less people-dodging than in the common areas. The LSD only showed the general area, so was no help in seeing ahead to other parts of the city. John chose the long way and hoped for the best as he punched the dot on the map.

Luckily, when the doors slid open no one was on the other side, but a glance at his watch told him that he had lost more time than he planned for in the jaunt back to his room. John would have to move quickly and not hit any major snags on the way if he was going to pull this off. Keeping an eye on the LSD, John took off at a dead run.  
John cursed under his breath as he came up a flight of stairs. Two dots were blinking cheerily in the next hallway on his planned route, forcing John to go up an extra level and cut across. The detour didn't cost him much time, however, and he traversed the final passages without further event.

John entered the jumper bay at a sprint, going automatically to jumper three. He felt briefly guilty for nicking the best jumper, but the next move had to go off without a hitch, and for that he would need a ship he could count on. John checked his watch one last time—_five minutes to spare_—and flew the puddle jumper out of the bay. If he could get through the stargate then he was home free, but he had no way of knowing if the control room would be clear. He just had to hope the night patrol was on schedule and the sleeping pills had worked their magic on the lone technician. With one last, deep breath, he lowered the jumper into the control room.

A cursory glance showed Johnson slumped in his seat at the controls and the floor free of any other witnesses. The cards were in his favor—no one was expecting anything unusual tonight, with the Wraith out of the way and galaxy more at peace than it had been in thousands of years—but he didn't want to tempt fate a second longer than necessary. John punched in the address and flew through the gate as soon as the wormhole stabilized. As the stargate blinked out behind him John was overcome with hysterical laughter. It was a broken, desperate sound, fueled by exhaustion and adrenaline. John felt more untethered than he could remember ever being.

* * *

Less than an hour later, John found himself standing in front of a doorway he had not seen in over six years. John smiled grimly to himself. He'd always heard time was relative, but that had never meant anything until he came to Pegasus. Between time travelling, time dilation, and having years of his life repeatedly drained and replenished, John wasn't even sure how old he was, let alone able to account for how much time had passed since he was first introduced to the universe of aliens and magic genes. Perhaps the strangest part was realizing that it had all become normal to him.

John thought about his first trip through the Stargate. Everyone had been so sure of themselves; so confident that they could handle whatever was waiting for them on the other side. In truth, they were embarrassingly unprepared. They ran head first into one disaster after another, never pausing long enough to realize just how out of their depth they really were. Still, here they were, eight years later (give or take,) standing on a field of victory. The Atlantis expedition had done everything it set out to do and so much more. Bringing freedom to an entire galaxy should count as a win in anyone's book, but looking back on all the destruction that happened along the way, John had to wonder if it was really worth it. Would these people have been better off if they had just stayed in the Milky Way where they belonged? Would he?

John ran his fingers along the Ancient writing carved into the stone in front of him. The first time he saw it, it had been meaningless. He recognized the script, but couldn't even tell where one word ended and the next began. It was clearer now. Bits of sentences stood out from the rest: _refuge ... let all who seek the path to enlightenment ... burden ... enter here. _Not enough to understand. Even if they had just found the doorway now instead of that time long ago, when they were still travelers in a foreign galaxy, it still wouldn't be clear enough to warn them away from rushing in, guns first. Not nearly enough, and yet, so much more.

John turned to the door, taking a moment to brace himself for the pain he knew was coming (and didn't that just say it all?) then stepped forward.

* * *

_"This is nice," John said, leaning back and adjusting his sunglasses. _

_"Nice?" Rodney asked incredulously. "We have a month's leave saved up and you take me to the bug infested, sun baked lakes of Texas? If I wanted to fight off giant insects and pass out from heat stroke, we could have just stayed home."_

_"If you're hot, we can go in the water again," John said. He had heard Rodney's tirades enough to know they were more perfunctory than genuine._

_"Um, no. Those fish bite!" Rodney said. John laughed and rolled his eyes._

_"Fair enough." They looked out at the passing sailboats in companionable silence. Texas was having a record heat wave that summer, and, as a result, Lake Travis was down to a mere puddle compared to its usual depths. Boat ramps that used to lead right up to the water's edge now dropped off to sheer cliff faces that hugged the lake on all sides. Despite the many complaints they heard from the locals, it seemed cozy to John. He couldn't remember feeling so safe._

_"I have a question," Rodney said. John looked up, a little hesitant. It never boded well when Rodney prefaced his questions rather than just coming out with them. "Why sailing?" Rodney gestured vaguely around them at the boat they had rented. _

_"Why not?" John asked by way of response. _

_"Well, we could have literally gone anywhere in the world. Surfing in Hawaii, or a European tour, or, I don't know, Disney World!"_

_"Did you want to go to Disney World?"_

_"No!" Rodney said, already exasperated. "That's not the point. I'm just saying, I didn't even know you could sail. It's an unexpected first choice."_

_"Vacation is supposed to be relaxing. This is relaxing." John shrugged, but he could feel Rodney's eyes on him. John may have perfected the fine art of the poker face, but somehow Rodney, who was otherwise completely oblivious to the subtleties of other people, could always tell when John was bullshitting. John was beginning to suspect that the other man had some experimental mind reading device up his sleeve. With Rodney anything was possible. "When I was little my dad would take us sailing down the East Coast every summer. My mom had this Catalina that she loved, and we'd spend a whole week on it at sea. Me and Dave would fish off the back and my dad would grill whatever we caught right there on the boat."_

_"My parents sent me to stay with my great aunt in Fargo, North Dakota every summer. It was awful. Only three TV channels and at least five cats," Rodney said, and John laughed._  
_"I thought you liked cats."_

_"Cats in general? Yes," Rodney said. "But this was a menagerie! She covered all the furniture in quilts to keep the hair off, and then put vinyl shower curtains over that to keep the quilts clean."_

_"That's a little piece of Heaven right there." _

_"Oh, yes." Rodney rolled his eyes. "I think I was the only kid that hated summer vacation."_

_"Well, my mom died when I was thirteen," John said. "My dad just sent us off to summer camp after that."_

_"Oh god, John, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"_

_"It was a long time ago." John cut in before Rodney could dig himself a hole out of what he intended to be an apology. "I guess I just thought sailing is something you do with family." A moment of silence passed before John look over at Rodney who was failing to contain a very satisfied grin. "What?"_

_"You like me," Rodney said._

_"I didn't say that," but John was grinning now too._

_"But you think I'm family."_

_"Yeah, the annoying cousin that eats all the pudding cups." Rodney had crossed the small deck and was kissing John almost before he got the words out._

_"If this is what you do with your cousins then I'm going to have to seriously reconsider my choice in romantic partners," Rodney said and kissed John again. "And those pudding cups were mine!"_

* * *

Going through the portal was less painful than he remembered. Maybe because he knew it was coming, maybe because he didn't fight it this time, but it didn't hurt to move afterwards. John was always grateful for small favors.

The area inside the field looked nearly identical to how he had left it, which surprised John. Hundreds of years must have passed since he had been trapped inside, but you couldn't tell by looking. That's what happens when you have a bubble of constant perfect weather, he supposed. A quick look around showed the orchards and well to still be viable. John was relieved. That was something he had been counting on. Even when the tiny village had been inhabited the occupants had lived primarily off the land as it was. _Who has time for farming between all that meditation?_

John inspected the buildings of the cloister. They had clearly been in disuse but were, for the most part, structurally sound. The wood was dry, and the hay thatched roofs had all disintegrated and fallen away, but none were close to caving in. A little work would have them back in shape. Night was falling, however, so repairs would have to wait until morning.  
John made camp in the middle of the cloister, building up a small fire next to the water hole. He ate a quick dinner of a Power Bar and bottled water from the supplies he'd brought along, and then lay out to sleep. John looked up at the stars and wondered how they got there. He couldn't be looking at the real night sky—hundreds of nights came and went in the time one passed outside the field—so he must be looking at a high tech projection. They were real enough to fool John, though. He had looked up at them for over six months, hoping to see a puddle jumper fly out of them and come to his rescue. It was interesting that the Ancients would include such an erroneous detail, like the Ancient equivalent of sticking glow stars to your bedroom ceiling. It seemed that even after you discovered all their secrets, you couldn't escape the wonder of the stars.

As John drifted to sleep, he almost thought he heard a piano playing in the distance. But that would be impossible.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

John spent the first week fixing the roof of the hut that had been his home the last time he was in the time dilation field. It was small—only one room, not even as big as his quarters in Atlantis—but more difficult to repair than he had anticipated. All the tools left behind by the field's previous occupants had rusted over, so he had to use his knife to cut through the straw-like plant used to cover the support beams. Fortunately, he was familiar with the general process from the regular maintenance the buildings had required on his last visit, and the physical exertion kept him occupied enough to stop his mind from wandering. He was still plagued with an unnatural fatigue and at night, he slept where he fell. He never remembered dreaming.

By the time he had finished the roof and reinforced the walls on the first building he had begun to lose track of the days. He was surprised by how little that bothered him. John had found the military an easy fit because he'd always lived a highly structured life. From age five he'd attended an all-boys private school that instituted corporal punishment for anything from smoking in the bathroom to untucked shirts. Even his summers had been spent mostly at enrichment camps. John had rebelled in small ways—brightly colored novelty socks that clashed horribly with his school uniform; loosening all the screws in his professor's desk chair so that it fell apart when he sat down; a poorly tattooed dragon snaking around his right knee and calf (Dave had been equal parts awed and horrified, Nancy had been turned on, and Rodney laughed until he had tears in his eyes)—but he had never known a life that was not ordered by a strict set of rules and consequences. Having no structure at all was both disorienting and a relief.

John went straight into repairing the former meditation house, ignoring the blisters that were quickly hardening into calluses on his hands. He didn't need the extra shelter, but he needed to stay busy. He had been testing the stability of the support beams when a noise in the forest made him pause. John had not encountered another living creature since he entered the field aside from some rabbit-like animals that had moved into one of the smaller out buildings. Even normal forest sounds were out of place here.

His gun was in the other building, but John held up his knife defensively and waited for any other signs of life. Slowly, the sound of someone running through the woods behind the cloister reached him. He took off in the same direction, not sure what to expect, but ready for a fight. Suddenly someone cried out, "John! Help, John!"

The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. "John!" it shouted again. He was leaping fallen branches and swerving around trees at full speed but didn't seem to be gaining on his quarry.

The woods opened up to a creek and John paused, disoriented. He had lost track of where he was going and was suddenly somewhere he didn't recognize without any idea how to get back. Before he had time to get his bearings, he spotted someone running through the trees on the opposite bank. He could only make out that it was a boy, no more than ten years old, with a thick head of light brown hair. John took off again, crossing the creek in three long strides. The water soaked his boots and pants, weighing down his already tired body, but now that he had seen the boy it was easier to follow. Before long, he had the boy in his sights and was closing the distance between them.

The boy turned his head to look behind him and shouted, "John, help!" But John stopped dead, recognition forcing the wind out of him.

"Dave?" he said, but before the name had even fully fallen from his lips, a snarling Rottweiler leapt out of the forest and tackled Dave into a thick patch of shrubs. "Dave!" he yelled, and bound forward. When he reached the bushes there was no evidence of his brother or the dog. John spun around, knife at the ready, expecting the two to reappear at any moment, but the woods had gone silent.

John dropped to the ground, letting his head slump forward. He took deep ragged breaths while the adrenaline rush started to fade and he tried to explain away seeing his brother from nearly thirty years ago.

"Do you come to seek the path, John Sheppard?" John nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a woman's voice. Standing between him and the shrubs his brother had disappeared into only moments before was Teer, the woman he had come to know the last time he was on this planet.

"What are you doing here?" John demanded, too shaken to be polite.

"That is the question I came to ask you." Teer said, smiling serenely down at him.

"It's just that the last time I saw you, you were a little more... glowy."

"We may assume the forms of the lower planes if we wish," she said.

"Yeah, I've seen that trick before," John said almost to himself.

"Come. Walk with me," Teer said and began walking before John was even on his feet. John considered not following. A part of him craved solitude and was slightly offended at her disruption of the space he had unknowingly begun to regard as his own. Still, another, more persistent part was reeling at the sight of his brother and figured her appearance must be linked, so he pulled himself off the forest floor and caught up with her.

"You do not look well, John," she said when they fell into step.

"Don't tell me you came all this way just to say I look like hell," John replied sardonically.

"You carry a great burden. I can see it in you," she said. John didn't respond. They walked a minute more until the trees broke into a clearing. In the distance John saw the cloister. He was shocked to see how close he was to the little village. It felt like he had run for miles, but he had never been more than a short walk away from where he started.

"Was it you?"

"I had nothing to do with the boy," Teer said, shaking her head. John had to think about that for a moment. He didn't know what ascended beings were capable of, but believing it had been Teer was his last ditch attempt at convincing himself he wasn't losing his grip on reality. Unless...

"But you saw him? He was real?" John couldn't completely mask the note of desperation in his voice.

"Real?" she said. "What you can see and hear may belie what you know in your heart to be true, but that does not negate it. At times, all our thoughts are misgivings." So, yes, definitely crazy then. "Who was he?"

"The kid?" John asked. Teer nodded. "I'm not sure."

"You said his name."

"Well, sure, but it couldn't have been. There's no way it was-"

"Dave?"

"Yes." John sighed. He could tell her what he thought he'd seen, but that didn't mean he had to believe it. Hallucinations didn't have to be delusions. "Dave is my younger brother. Once, when we were kids, I wouldn't let him stay after school with my friends and me. I made him walk home by himself and one of the neighbor's dogs attacked him. The cleaning lady saw him go down and took him to the hospital. He was there all night getting stitched up." Dave still had the scars on his arm and back. John knows he must have been punished by his dad, but he all he remembers is not being able to look Dave in the eye for weeks afterwards. It had been their first day back to school since their mother died.

"Why are you here, John?" Teer asked, and John was temporarily thrown off by the apparent non sequitur. He suddenly remembered why he couldn't stand talking to ascended beings.

"I just... needed some time away," he said. "Call it a leave of absence."

Teer looked at him contemplatively then said, "You come seeking the path."

"I told you before, ascension's not really my style." John said.

"There are many paths, and many ways to enlightenment," Teer replied. "We must all choose one."

"Right, well, I'll keep that in mind."

"Yes, but now you should rest. The day has been long," she said. John looked around, only just registering that the sun had sunk nearly below the horizon. He had lost the entire afternoon. When he turned back to Teer, she was gone.

* * *

_"I know this song," John said._

_"Of course you do," Rodney said, fingers never missing a note as they danced across the piano keys. "Everyone knows this song. It's Beethoven."_

_"No, I mean..." John sat down on the bench next to Rodney and shooed the other man's hands away from the keys. Rodney sighed in mock offense, but complied. John began playing where Rodney had left off. His fingers halted and slipped across wrong notes, a stark contrast to Rodney, who had played effotlessly, as if it came to him first nature._

_"Don't quit your day job, Colonel. You have no future as a concert pianist." Rodney said, smirking._

_"Gee thanks," John said, but continued working through the piece._

_"I didn't know you could play," Rodney said._

_"I can't. Not really," John said. "Dave took piano lessons in junior high. He had this piece for his first competition. Every day for a month he would play it over and over again for hours. I guess I just picked it up."_

_"You just 'picked it up'?" Rodney asked, and John could hear the air quotes in his tone._

_"Yeah. I don't even know what it's called," John said._

_"Moonlight Sonata," Rodney supplied. "Though that's not really accurate. It was named posthumously and Beethoven would probably have been furious. He never titled his compositions. He didn't intend to tell a story with his music. At least not in such simple terms."_

_"Huh," was John's only reply. As he continued playing, the music became more fractured. Eventually he pulled away from the keys, unable to remember the final bars. He watched as Rodney finished the piece with a fluidity and flourish that had him wondering how anyone could say this man had no feel for the art._

_"What?" Rodney asked after noticing John's open stare. John only shrugged, then leaned over and rested his head on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney reached up and carded his fingers through John's hair, scratching gently at the base of John's skull. John hummed contentedly and wrapped his arms around Rodney's waist._

_"I haven't been here since my dad died," John said after a moment. Rodney glanced around the poshly decorated room and murmured, "Doesn't look like anyone has."_  
_John laughed quietly. "You could be right about that. Dave and his family live in D.C. I'm surprised he didn't just sell the place."_

_"I keep trying to picture it, but I just can't see you growing up here," Rodney said. "This place seems more like a museum than a family home."_

_"It's not as if being here gives me warm, fuzzy memories of my childhood." Rodney made a soft, unhappy sound at that and tilted his head down to meet John's in a sideways approximation of an Athosian embrace. _

_"Well, reminders of my youth hardly fill me with a glowing nostalgia either," Rodney said. "Growing up, I always imagine going off to be something great. Like if my name was in a science journal or on an orchestra program my parents would suddenly repent of all the ways they screwed up my formative years."_

_"How'd that work out for you?"_

_"They both died before I published my first paper." If John tightened his grip then, Rodney didn't mention it. "For so many years I wanted to erase them from my life, but it didn't feel any better when they were actually gone. I guess you never stop wanting your parents approval, even when it doesn't matter anymore."_

_"Yeah," John said. "That's family."_

_Somewhere in the house a clock began chiming the hour._

_"Does it help to know that in some parallel reality we both had happy childhoods and grew up to be productive, well-adjusted members of society?" John asked in an attempt to lighten the mood._

_"This is the only reality of consequence," Rodney deadpanned. _

_"A house in the suburbs, 2.5 kids, his and hers SUVs—" John continued, but Rodney cut him off with a snort of disgust. "You didn't let me get to the white picket fence and Westland terrier."_

_Rodney leaned back, placed his hands on John's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, "I don't want to live in that reality or any other that doesn't take us both to Atlantis where we belong." John wished he had said something more elegant than 'all right,' but Rodney let John kiss him anyway. _

_"Your brother's late," Rodney said when they parted._

_"He does that sometimes," John replied._

_"Do you think he'll like me?"_

_"No."_

_"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Colonel Sensitivity."_

_"Don't worry about it. He doesn't like me either." John meant it as a joke, but they both knew it was the honest truth._

_"Yeah, well that's..."_

_"Family," John finished for him._

_"Yeah."_

_

* * *

  
_

So much time had passed without event that John started to believe he had dreamed up Teer and the chase through the woods. The long days working in the sun could easily account for his imagination getting the better of him. At least that was what he chose to believe, because the alternative was insanity, and that wasn't an option he was willing to consider.  
John had thrown himself back into the repairs with a single-minded fervor, starting the minute he was conscious and going until he could barely hold himself upright, then crashing into sleep. John hadn't seen himself in anything like a mirror since he left Atlantis, but the clothes he brought with him now hung off him loosely. He could hear the lecture Carson would give him at the sight of bones pressing out against skin where, previously, had been flat planes.

His knife had lost any semblance of a sharp edge before he had even completed thatching the second roof. Several days had been spent sharpening and replacing the handles on what tools could be salvaged. Most had deteriorated beyond redemption, but John was pleased with the few small cutting tools he had worked out of the scrap. He didn't really care about the time they would save, but he was relieved to give his hands a bit of a break from the rough treatment they received while using just the knife.  
John finished hanging the newly forged tools on pegs he had installed on the outside of the meditation house, and then made for the building in which he had been living. He halted in the doorway when he saw Teer sitting cross-legged beside his bedroll. "Hello John," she said. John lifted his hand in a small wave, then crossed the room and dropped onto the floor on the far side of the room.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked.

"I came to speak with you," she replied.

"Don't you people have some rule about not interfering with the lower planes of existence?" John asked. He was tired, and not in the mood for word games with the ascended being.

"I'm not interfering."

"What would you call this, then?" John gestured to her in evidence.

"Talking."

John laughed. "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"Why are you here?"

"You keep asking that."

"You never answered," Teer said, and, alright, he should have seen that one coming.

"Nowhere else to go, I guess."

"When last you were here you never gave up trying to get home. That is not so this time. I've been watching."

"You know, it's a little creepy when you say stuff like that," John said, avoiding the topic. Teer didn't take the bait.

"John," she said. John sighed and surrendered.

"I couldn't stay in Atlantis anymore."

"Why?" Teer sounded truly curious.

"I've been fighting wars for more years than I can count. First on Earth, then here, with the Wraith. Now, it's over, and I know I should be happy about that, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do." John said. He was surprised to realize he was telling the truth.

"You are a warrior." Teer said.

"Yeah," John said. "That works."

"You're afraid to live a purposeless life."

"Not afraid," John countered. "I just don't know how."

Teer tilted her head in consideration. "You spoke much of your friends before. Are they not a purpose?"

"Ronon and Teyla? They came to Atlantis to help us fight the Wraith. They can have lives now; make real homes somewhere," John said, sighing. "Teyla already has a family." John's voice was harsh from disuse. He had rarely spoken so candidly about himself, but he was still not entirely convinced Teer wasn't just a figment of his imagination conjured out of his extended solitude. Even if she were really there, John decided he wasn't likely to end up the topic of gossip around the ascended water cooler.

Teer regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "There's more. You carry a deep sadness."

"No offense, but I don't really feel like—" A high-pitched whine sounded overhead, stopping John abruptly.

"What is it?" Teer asked, but John held up a hand, beckoning for silence. A second later, another whine sounded, followed by the blast of weapons fire. John ran out of the building and stared at the sky as two Wraith darts curved around and flew back in his direction. He was dumbstruck. The Wraith weren't supposed to be a threat anymore. Did some get away during the attack without them realizing it? And how did they get into the time dilation field?

The darts drew close, shooting down the outer buildings of the cloister. Bright white beams scoured the ground in search of humans, but John was rooted to the spot. Shouts and the cries of children erupted all around him, the sounds of a city in panic, but looking around the village, John saw no one. One of the darts made his position and was headed straight for him when he was hit from behind. Someone had shoved him out of the way of the dart's beam at the last second.

"We need to get out of here, sir!" cried the voice of the man still on top of him, shouting over the noise. The man moved away and dragged John to his feet. John turned to look at him, still unable to process the situation.

"Ford?" John said in disbelief.

"Yes, sir," he replied. John gaped at the sight of Aiden Ford, youthful and whole, like he had been when they first arrived in Pegasus. John had the memory of Ford's ruined face after the first siege of the city so ingrained in his mind—scarred, one eye gone black—he almost didn't recognize the young Marine. "The jumper's just over the ridge. Teyla and McKay already made a run for it."

"Rodney..." John whispered. Ford gritted his teeth. Realizing he wasn't getting through to his commanding officer, Ford wrapped an arm around John's shoulders and began dragging him bodily across the clearing. John's feet caught on, even if his mind didn't, and he began running in the direction he was being forced. More shots came from overhead, setting fire to the open field. Ford swore loudly and shoved John forward, then turned and began shooting his P-90 at the nearest dart. With nothing moving him forward, John stopped and stared openly. The fire was spreading quickly, already engulfing the ruined outer most buildings of the cloister.

Ford managed to land some hits, causing the dart to billow smoke and careen out of control, but the other one was moving in fast. "Ford, move!" John cried out, but it was too late. The last thing John saw was Aiden turning to him, drawing a breath to shout when he disappeared into a flash of white light.

"Ford!" John yelled, but his voice just echoed back to him. The clearing had gone silent, the darts and grass fire vanishing just as quickly as they had appeared. John keeled over, feeling like he was about to be sick. He tried to breathe deeply, but couldn't get any air in his lungs. His ears were ringing, and his vision began to fuzz. He held on to consciousness as long as he could, but the darkness swallowed him.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

John woke to the feeling of a cool, damp cloth being dabbed against his cheek and neck. He brushed the hand away and threw an arm across his eyes. His head was pounding, and his eyelids failed to block out the sunlight. John lay unmoving, allowing himself to fade in and out of consciousness. When the pain finally began to subside, night had fallen. John sat up. He was back in his room in the cloister, a basin of water sitting nearby on the floor.

"You were restless in sleep," John was unsurprised to realize Teer had been watching him from across the room. "You called out many times."

"Why are you here?" John demanded.

"To help you," she said.

"Help me?" John choked on an incredulous laugh. "I was fine. I wasn't seeing my little brother get mauled by a dog or talking to people who have been dead for years until you got here. If this is your idea of help, I'm not interested."

"I am not the creator of these visions, John."

"I don't see anyone else around."

"Do you remember nothing of your previous time in the sanctuary?" She asked. "You are the master of your own demons."

"Why are you doing this to me?!" John shouted, leaping to his feet.

"You must face your fears in order to release your burden, John," she answered calmly.

"I don't want to release my burden, or find the path to enlightenment, or whatever else it is you think you're helping me do! All I want is to be left alone." John was snarling by the end.

"If that is what you wish," Teer said.

"It is," John said.

"Then I shall take my leave." Teer stood and walked out of the building. John looked out the door after her, but she was already gone. He turned back into the room and fell onto his bedroll. John curled in on himself and pulled the blanket over his head as violent shivers racked his body. A strangled sob escaped, unbidden, from his lips, followed shortly by another and another, until he was weeping openly. Everything he had been holding back since he woke up so many months ago in his wrecked quarters in Atlantis rippled to the surface. Grief forced its way out of him in waves until he was left gasping raggedly on the floor of the hut, spent.

He exhaled, feeling hollowness replace the pressure that had taken up residence beneath his sternum for so long he hadn't even noticed it was still there. His head throbbed again from the exertion; somewhere in the distance Moonlight Sonata played him softly to sleep.

* * *

_"Stop it," John said, poking Rodney in the ribs._

_"What?" Rodney demanded._

_"You're wiggling," John said._

_"Sorry," Rodney said, voice laced with sarcasm. "I don't really sleep well in hostage situations."_

_"Don't worry, buddy. We've been in worse spots than this."_

_"That's comforting how, exactly?" Rodney asked. "And the fact that it's true only makes it worse."_

_"Just trying to find the silver lining," John said._

_"Find the silver lining to the concrete floor," Rodney replied. "Aren't there any laws about cruel and unusual punishment in this galaxy? This is hell on my back. The least they could have done was thrown down a mattress."_

_"No, the least they could have done was tie us to a tree and let us die of exposure. All things considered, this is pretty nice. We even got our own cell."_

_"Thank you. Thank you for that."_

_"Come here," John said and arranged the two of them so that John was sitting with his back to the wall and Rodney was lying on his back, head resting on John's thigh like a pillow. "Better?"_

_"Marginally," Rodney replied. John laid a hand across Rodney's chest and closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of each breath. Rodney covered John's hand with his own and, after a moment, spoke again. "I never thought I'd be here."_

_"Most people don't plan on being taken hostage." John said._

_"No, I mean here. Somewhere other than a lab on Earth. Even after I joined the Stargate program I had no interest in ever going through the damn thing. If someone had said even a year before we left for Atlantis that I'd be on a first contact gate team in another galaxy, I would have laughed them out of the room. I've always been the man with the answers, not the man with the gun."_

_"What changed?" John asked._

_"He, who through vast immensity can pierce,_ _See worlds on worlds compose one universe,_ _Observe how system into system runs,_ _What other planets circle other suns,_ _What varied being peoples every star,_ _May tell why heaven has made us as we are."Rodney said._

_"Never figured you for a poet, McKay," John said._

_"Liberal arts college," Rodney replied. "I was forced to take a poetry analysis class as an undergrad. The rest of the time we were reading about 'Dancing with the Daffodils,' so that particular piece stood out."_

_"I always preferred Auden to Wadsworth, myself," John said._

_"Oh my god!" Rodney said, stricken. John raised an eyebrow. "You're an English nerd."_

_"I double majored," John said. _

_"How did I not see this coming? You go on what could be a one way trip to another galaxy, and what are your personal items? A literary classic and a recording of a football game, not for the sport, but because it's a perfect metaphor. A metaphor!" Rodney exclaimed. "Jeannie's never going to let me live this down."_

_"Hey, you never answered the question," John said._

_"What?"_

_"Why did you join the Atlantis expedition?" John said._

_"Oh," Rodney though for a moment. "I guess it was Samantha Carter that changed my mind." John bristled a bit at that. Much as he liked her as a person and respected her as a superior officer, he couldn't help the small twinge of jealousy he had towards her as far as Rodney was concerned. Though the feelings were never reciprocated, Rodney's blatant crush was a bit of a sore spot. "Jeannie and I had fallen out just days before I worked with Sam for the first time, though I had known her through her work for a long time before that. She was infuriating. It seemed like she could do whatever she wanted and it would all work out in the en; as if every scientific law ceased to exist as soon as she walked into the room. At the time, all I wanted was to prove her wrong, just once."_

_"Even if it meant killing her teammate," John said._

_"No. I didn't want Teal'c to die. I just couldn't see any way he could possibly be alive, either. Long story short, Sam had me sent to Siberia. I spent the next year hating everyone. I didn't even try to fix things with Jeannie. I resented Sam, and loathed the SGC. It seemed like everything was working against me. Then I was called back to Colorado to help Sam again. I saw everything she had—her team, her work—and I wanted it. Jeanie was my only family and she was out of the picture. There are only so many places in the world I could do my line of work, and everyone in those places couldn't stand me."_

_"Understandable," John said._

_"Excuse me," Rodney said. "You asked me to tell the story. Would you mind not insulting me in the process?"_

_"Sorry," John said."Continue."_

_"Anyway, the Atlantis project was my ticket out. It was a chance to be on the cutting edge of the work I loved while being able to leave the baggage behind. The fact that we might not be able to come back wasn't really a deterrent."_

_"It was a suicide mission?" John said._

_"Metaphorically speaking," Rodney said. The two fell into thoughtful silence. John's story wasn't so different—nowhere else to go, and no one to miss him once he left. The nature of the original expedition seemed to have attracted many of the same sorts of people: intelligent, highly motivated, with nothing to leave behind. No one else would have taken the risk, and no one else would have survived it if they had. Atlantis: the Island of Misfit Toys._

_"Do you think they're coming for us?" Rodney asked._

_"They haven't let us down yet," John said._

_"At least this cell has a window." Rodney said, glancing up at the small opening six feet from the ground. Two of the planet's moons were alligned between the bars._

_"See? Silver lining." John grinned. "It's practically The Ritz."_

* * *

The next morning, John was sore and ravenously thirsty. He drank greedily from the basin until it was dry. The muscles in his back were knotted and his joints cracked when he stood and stretched, but he felt none of the weight that had tempered his every movement before. He was hungry too.

He stepped out of his cabin into the predawn light, intending to rummage something from the orchards to eat with a Power Bar, but was stalled by the sight of the village. Most of the buildings were reduced to rubble, some from weapons fire, while other had clearly been scorched. A huge section of the grass in the clearing that surrounded the cloister had burned down to the roots. The only buildings left untouched were the meditation house and the one in which he slept.

John sat down hard on the step. He had tried to dismiss the other night as a dream, or, at worse, a horrible vision given to him by Teer, but he couldn't deny the evidence he was faced with now. Something had happened here; something horrible that he couldn't explain. He wanted to be upset by the discovery, but as the sun rose slowly, he couldn't find it in him.

He got up and walked down to the orchard, pulling one of the soft, almost pear-like fruit from one of the trees and eating it as he made his way to the creek. When he reached the water's edge, he waded in fully clothed. The creek wasn't deep, coming no higher than mid thigh, but John submerged himself, enjoying the feel of cold water on his skin. He came up briefly for air then dipped back below the surface, scrubbing his hair with his hands. He resurfaced, shaking the water from his hair and eyes, then scrubbed at his clothes and skin. He dove under the water one last time before walking out of the creek into the sunlight.

The day was warm, and his skin and hair had already begun to dry by the time he made it back to the cloister. He felt compelled to resume repairs on the meditation building, more out of habit than any consuming desire to keep busy, but instead lay out on an patch of grass to air dry in the sun. He was taking the day off.

John hadn't realized he was dozing until he was brought back to awareness by a shout. "Sheppard! John!" He jerked upright. That was a voice he would recognize anywhere. To his horror, his cabin was ablaze. He could feel the heat radiating off the cabin from his spot on the grass.

"Rodney!" John shouted, and ran for the burning building. He searched the exterior, looking for some spot that wasn't swallowed in flame, but found none. As he rounded back to the front, he called out again. "Rodney, can you hear me?"

"John! Oh god, John, help. There's no way out!" John's heart raced and hands shook as he paced, searching for some way into the building. On the ground, he spotted one of the beams he had removed while mending the buildings. It was rotted and worthless as a support, but thick. John picked it up and turned back to the cabin.

"Stand back!" John shouted, then ran at the door, using the beam to knock loose the handle. He could feel the fire burning his skin but ignored it, focusing on nothing but getting inside to Rodney. Once the handle was broken free, John rammed the door with his shoulder. It cracked, but didn't give. He pulled back and threw his weight into the door again, falling forward as it broke apart beneath him.

As John tumbled inside, the burning pain dissipated, and the roar of the fire was muffled until it was almost inaudible. The room was cool, and glowed golden as if lit by hundreds of Christmas lights. "John," someone said quietly, and John spun around to see the man he had just thrown himself into a burning building to save.

"Rodney?" John said. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Is that really you?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and said, "Don't be stupid." John wasn't sure what that meant, but rushed forward and pulled Rodney into a crushing embrace anyway. Rodney returned it with equal enthusiasm, burying his face in the crook of John's neck. "Why are you here, John?"

"I couldn't save you. You were gone and I didn't know what else to do," John's voice hitched on the last words. "At some point you're going to have to get over this savior complex. It wasn't your fault," Rodney said, but John shoved away.

"I fired the shot that killed you," John said, staring Rodney down.

"And I built the bomb that you rode into a hive ship!" Rodney shot back.

"That wasn't the same, and you know it," John said.

"In what way, exactly?" Rodney asked. "Because I told you to fire instead of running out with a, 'So long, Sheppard'?"

"Because I made a choice, Rodney!" John said. He balled his hands tightly into fists to keep them from shaking.

"Right. You knew for sure you were going to die, whereas I just knew I was probably going to die. I see the distinction now."  
John sighed in exasperation. "I don't want to fight with you."

"Why not?" Rodney asked. "Don't you miss it?" John chuckled and drew Rodney into him again.

"Yeah, I do." John inhaled deeply, trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

"You know I think it's weird when you do that," Rodney said.

"I'm taking one for the road," John said unapologetically. "Why are _you_ here?

"To make sure you get back to Atlantis," Rodney said.

"I don't want to go," John said, gripping Rodney tighter and not caring how petulant he sounded.

"Atlantis is home, John," Rodney said.

"It's not the same," John protested.

"No, probably not. For one thing, you'll have to worry constantly that Zelenka will accidentally sink the city or erase the entire Ancient database," Rodney said, smirking. "But it can still be good."

"Will I see you again?" John asked.

"Maybe. I don't know," Rodney said. Then John turned and their lips met and all the hollowed-out spaces inside him were filled again. It felt like summers on the lake, and Ferris wheels, and flying for the first time, and this? This was the memory he wanted to save forever.

They parted slowly, and Rodney looked into John's eyes and said, "You have to wake up now."

"What?" John asked, because he was more awake now than he had been in months.

"Awake, my Saint John. Leave all meaner things to low ambition, and the pride of kings."

In the span of time it took to blink, the scene had changed before his eyes. He was staring up at the ceiling of a puddle jumper, blinking dumbly as people moved around him. John moaned loudly as the pain returned.

"Colonel Sheppard, can you hear me?" Teyla searched his eyes for a moment then turned to someone out of his line of sight. "Dr. Beckett, he is awake. John, I need you to stay very still. You are badly burned."

"Teyla?" John said, but it was little more than a whisper. "Where am I?"

"You are in a puddle jumper with myself, Ronon and Major Lorne. Dr. Beckett is also here to look after your injuries," she said.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

Teyla smiled down at him. "We're going home, John."

* * *

**The End**

* * *

Go here for the official _Wake_ playlist: .#cutid1

The poem quoted in this chapter is _An Essay on Man_ by Alexander Pope. Both quotations are from Epistle 1, "On the Nature and State of Man with Respect to the Universe.'


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